


Trading Bards

by TheRealDanniX



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealDanniX/pseuds/TheRealDanniX
Summary: In a world where the stoic one is the bard, what happens when he switches places with Netflix!Jaskier?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 340





	Trading Bards

**Author's Note:**

> This is crack. Or it started as crack and then it got really out of hand and now it's this. Sorry.   
> Not really.  
> Well, kinda.  
> I have three WIPS and I wrote this instead. I'm in a bit of a weird headspace. 
> 
> If you enjoy it drop a kudos or comment.   
> And as always: Y'all are amazing! I love hearing from y'all!

_Jaskier:_

Jaskier’s head was pounding when he woke up. He couldn’t recall exactly how much he’d had to drink the night before, but it had certainly been enjoyable. He couldn’t remember much of the night as he rolled off the bed, feeling more than a little sore. Geralt isn’t in the room, but that’s not particularly worrying. The mornings after blurry nights, Geralt often leaves to get breakfast before Jaskier is awake. So Jaskier gets dressed, pulling on a light blue doublet with yellow embellishments. Then he picked up his lute and settled onto the bed, resting against the headboard as he re-tuned and cared for his beloved instrument, movements on autopilot. When the Witcher returned carrying bread and cheese, Jaskier smiled brightly. Geralt’s golden eyes narrowed, and he frowned.

“Good morning, dear Witcher,” Jaskier started, shaking off the last of the headache and setting his lute aside. “I suppose we’ll be off today, seeing as you so bravely finished your contract last night. Speaking of last night, I do hope that I didn’t embarrass you or myself too much. I can’t seem to recall much after I finished my set. I must have been enjoying the ale and wine quite a bit.” Jaskier chuckled, but, judging by the look on Geralt’s face, _something_ was wrong. “Don’t tell me you had to rescue me from a spouse or partner again. I swear I’ve mostly stopped doing that. If you’re giving me that face because I picked a fight, that’s perfectly fine, but I don’t think that’s the case.”

The Witcher’s mouth opened and closed several times before he seemed to be unable to get words out. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at once,” he muttered. “Are you still drunk?” His nostrils flared as he leaned closer to Jaskier. The bard rolled his eyes.

“That’s not funny, Geralt. That was actually fairly short by my standards. I’m a bard after all. Stories are my trade. And are you not the one who tells me to shut up on a daily basis?” He was on his feet, poised to go into an animated rant about the bardic profession and the need for speech and stories. The wide-eyed look on his friend’s face stopped him. “What?”

“I have never once told you to shut up.” Geralt put his hands gently on Jaskier shoulders and, despite the urge to snort at the statement, Jaskier was immediately concerned. The Witcher only initiated touch when something was very wrong.

“Uh, Geralt, are you all right? You’re worrying me.” Jaskier stepped back, trying to get out of reach. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem, but this time Geralt just moved with him.

“I’m worrying you?” There was actual inflection in his voice. “Jask, what is going on? You are never this animated. You are never this talkative. Did you hit your head last night?” One of the sword callused hands moved from his shoulder to ruffle his hair, looking for a non-existent wound. Jaskier jerked away, finally getting out of the concerned hands of his friend. He kept backing up, staying out of arm’s reach.

“Stop that. Whatever joke you are trying for is not landing.”

He intended to rant on, but Geralt cut him off. “It’s not a joke, Jask. I’m worried. Are you sure you’re not hurt? Do you think that maybe someone cursed you? I could get Yenna to come check.” The look on the man’s face was so openly concerned that Jaskier couldn’t take it.

“Stop that!” Jaskier felt his back slam into the wall behind him. “Stop with the emotions, and vocal inflections, and nicknames, and words! I would like my stoic humming and grunting Witcher back now, please.” Geralt stood frozen, staring at him like he’d painted Roach purple. It was the most expressive face he’d ever seen on the Witcher and that was too much. His head was spinning, and words tumbled from his mouth with even less of a filter than usual. “Honestly, it would normally be exciting to hear you utter a complete sentence or to see you with even a flicker of concern. But right now, I would like it to stop. If this is some absurd nightmare, I’m done with it. I want to wake and return to my life which makes sense and not this-this…” He trailed off, losing his breath, waving his arms franticly. Geralt stepped towards him carefully.

“Jaskier, breathe,” Geralt ordered, keeping his voice low. His hands hovered at Jaskier's shoulders. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll figure it out. I know you’re not big on touch, but I’m going to hug you now, okay?” Jaskier froze. There was no way this was his Witcher.

_Geralt:_

Geralt returned to the room with breakfast, to find the bard still asleep. He sat the bread and cheese down on the table and sighed. Then he removed the blanket from the bed, waiting for the normal shouts of indignation that followed. What happened, however, was not animated flailing and shouting, but a dagger burying itself in the wall behind him. “What the fuck.” Geralt growled. Jaskier rolled his eyes and covered his head with the pillow. “Get up.” He threw the pillow across the room and dragged Jaskier up by his tunic. 

“Put. Me. Down.” The bard snarled at him. His normally cheery blue eyes were dark. His nails dug into Geralt’s arm. When the Witcher didn’t release him, the bard moved his hands and put pressure in between Geralt’s thumb and pointer finger, prying the handoff. “What’s wrong with you?” Jaskier slipped passed him and plucked his dagger from the wall. Geralt didn’t answer, waiting for the bard to go on, but he didn’t. He just got dressed in a light blue ensemble and snatched up his lute case, setting it on the table next to the food. Then he frowned at Geralt. “You’re quiet.” The Witcher frowned slightly. “And frowning.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt started. Then he stopped, frowning deeper. “I’m quiet?” Jaskier turned back to him and folded his arms, sighing. The expression on his face was one that, though familiar with, he had never seen on the bard. It was the same expression he often had while Jaskier was rambling.

After a few long, confusing moments staring at each other, Jaskier rolled his eyes. “See? Quiet,” he huffed. Then he returned to his lute. He opened the case and frowned. “What did you do to my lute, Witcher?” He held up the lute, glaring at Geralt. The lute looked the same as it always had covered in flower carvings from Jaskier’s own hands.

“Nothing,” Geralt grunted.

“The carvings, you arsehole. Why the fuck is my lute covered in flowers?” Jaskier put the lute down and drew his dagger, aiming it at Geralt. He took a deep breath through his nose. Suddenly, it became very clear what was wrong with the bard.

“Fuck. You’re not my bard.” Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say because he had to duck the dagger again. “Stop that!” Geralt snapped. Not-Jaskier glared back, more defiant than ever. “If you go for that dagger, I will stop you.”

“You may try,” Not-Jaskier hissed.

“I will not harm you, but I will restrain you until I can find Jaskier.”

“I am Jaskier, Witcher. What has your head today?”

“I am not the one who did not recognize the tools of my trade. You are not my bard.”

Not-Jaskier rolled his eyes again. “Just because you decorated it with ridiculous flowers does not mean I don’t know my own lute.”

“Jaskier carved the flowers,” Geralt growled. The other man raised an eyebrow, clearly wanting Geralt to talk. “You aren’t Jaskier.”

“Elaborate, Geralt! Of all the times for you to lose your tongue. And for the last time, I am Jaskier.” His eyes flicked to the dagger, still stuck in the wall.

“Not _my_ Jaskier.”

_Jaskier_ :

When Jaskier didn’t reply, Not-Geralt pulled him into a hug. For a moment, it was wonderful and easy to forget that the man hugging him was not his stoic friend. Unfortunately, is was a quick hug and did very little to calm Jaskier down. Jaskier stalked back to the bed, seeking comfort from his lute. He would often run his hands across the carvings he’d made, sometimes adding more when the nervous energy was too much. Taking the lute in his hands, he froze again. His flowers were gone. Aside from a few dents, the lute in his hands was completely unmarked. Not-Geralt was still talking, but it seemed more like Jaskier’s rambling as opposed to the normally pertinent information that Geralt would use his words for. So Jaskier cut him off. “This isn’t my lute,” Jaskier said.

“Of course it’s your lute, Jask. It’s the one you got from the elves.”

Before Not-Geralt could continue, Jaskier turned to meet his eyes, effectively silencing the man. “I remember the lute I got from Filivandrel, and this may very well be that lute, but this is not my lute. My lute is covered with carvings. It’s a nervous habit.” Golden eyes narrowed, scanning Jaskier again. “You aren’t my Geralt.” Jaskier plucked nervously at the lute. “Now, I don’t know what is happening, but I do not belong here. I belong with my Witcher and my lute. And while it’s lovely that you seem to be far more talkative than my Geralt, I think one chatterbox is quite enough, and I’m rather used to it being me. Now, I’m going to keep calling you Geralt, even though you aren’t _my_ dear Witcher, because, honestly, I’ve no clue what else I would call you. So, Geralt, put your Witcher mind to it. What could have brought me here in place of your Jaskier?”

“You mean you’re Jaskier from another world?” Golden eyes scanned him carefully.

“I believe that’s what I just said, yes.” Jaskier forced himself to put the lute down. It wasn’t his. He wouldn’t want anyone else touching his lute, even if it was another version of himself.

“You said ‘dear Witcher’.”

“Yes, Geralt, I did. I don’t know if your Jaskier calls you that, but I often say that to my Geralt. That is not really what I need you to focus on at the moment.”

“You care for him.” The Witcher was frowning, looking deeply confused. Jaskier glared at him. It didn’t really work. In fact, it seemed like the other man was quite used to it. “You actually talk like you care for him.”

“If I explain it to you will you help me get back to him?” the bard sighed. Not-Geralt nodded. “Fine then. As I said earlier, my Geralt is rather quiet, stoic, and generally, it requires careful attention to see what he’s feeling if I can figure it out at all. But that’s all right because I have gotten very good at deciphering his looks. When he does talk, it’s either really important or just rude. We’ve traveled together for over twenty years, on and off. I care for him deeply, but I’m not really sure if he knows how much. I help where I can. Patch him up after battles. Help him wash off the monster guts. Even when we haven’t had any near-death experiences, he still lets me help with his hair. He’s noble and brave and cares deeply, even if he can’t show it. He is my best friend. Now, will you stop staring at me like that and help me figure out what’s going on here.” The Witcher didn’t move, just continued to stare wide-eyed and mouth open. “You look like I’ve slapped you with a fish. Geralt, we have a problem here. I need to get back to my Witcher. To my World. Snap out of it.”

“You love him,” he said. Jaskier felt his heart stop. Before he could say anything the Witcher continued. “Don’t deny it. He won’t know what you tell me here. I just, recognize the face. I tend to make a similar one when I talk about Jask. That’s how I know. He sounds a lot like my Jaskier. Except, Jask is still the one who sews me up and washes my hair. He didn’t like how messy it got, and he has steadier hands than I do. He trained with a healer at some point before we met in Posada. I never thought I’d hear him sound like that.”

“You still haven’t dear. And there’s a chance you won’t. See, unlike you, my dear Witcher will not be asking questions and making sure I’m all right. He’s much more sword first, questions later and if he notices your Jaskier not acting like me, there will be a problem.” Jaskier sat down on the bed, biting his lip. Not-Geralt sat beside him, chuckling.

“I wouldn’t worry. Jask is the same way, and he’s had twenty-four years to figure out how to get a Witcher to stop touching him.” He bumped Jaskier’s shoulder, and Jaskier had to fight the urge to lean against the larger man. “I don’t know why you two switched, though. It’s probably a curse, but I’d have to talk to Yenna to figure out if it’s on your end or his.”

Jaskier sighed. “I’m assuming that by Yenna you mean Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

_Geralt:_

Not-Jaskier hadn’t liked that. He dove at Geralt, pulling one of the Witcher’s own blades from his hip and holding it to his neck. The bard kicked down hard on the back of a knee, forcing Geralt down, closer to his blade. “Speak clearly and carefully,” he hissed. “And whatever you may think about wearing his face, I have no qualms about hurting you. Not when it’s him on the line. Where is my Witcher?” The way the bard was holding him, it would be difficult to disarm him without hurting him.

“In your world,” Geralt grunted.

“Explain.” The blade pressed in.

“You are not from this world. Somehow you and my Jaskier have traded lives.” The Witcher forced himself to stay still. A moment passed. Then two.

“Fuck.” The Bard finally withdrew the blade and stepped back. Geralt drew himself to full height and glared at Not-Jaskier. The Bard did the same thing, looking far more dangerous than Geralt had thought possible. “I guess that means we need Yenna.”

Geralt grunted his agreement. “Pack his things, Bard.” Blue eyes like ice bore into the Witcher from an expressionless face. A look he had only seen once before. After the dragon hunt. He hated the twisted feeling in his gut. “Yennefer’s in the next town over.” He turned and grabbed his swords and pack. “I’ll be in the stables with Roach.”

“Wait,” the other man sighed. Geralt turned back to him. The bard’s face was still disturbingly blank. “Tell me about your bard.” Geralt raised an eyebrow. Not-Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I will not ruin any bard’s reputation without reason.” He folded his arms again. The Witcher hated how closed off it made the younger man seem.

“He’s loud,” Geralt said finally. “Always moving and talking and singing.” Not-Jaskier waved his hand, signaling for more. “He’s always smiling and friendly and protective.”

A strange look passed across the bard’s face. “Protective?”

“He doesn’t like when people insult me.” Another signal to keep going. The Witcher hadn’t needed to talk this much in days. “He tends to punch, or stab, people who call me butcher.”

Not-Jaskier frowned. “Butcher?” His hands were tight fists as they went to his sides. “They call _you_ butcher?” Geralt nodded. Not-Jaskier snorted. “Your world must be very different indeed if anyone would call you _that_ in front of me.” The look in his blue eyes was fierce. It was the look Jaskier always gave him after getting pulled out of yet another bar fight over the Witcher’s honor.

“Protective.” Geralt nodded at the bard.

“Protective, talkative and cheery, yes?” Not-Jaskier sighed. Another nod. “So, I have to spend the morning pretending to be you.” Geralt didn’t respond, mostly because he had no clue how to respond. The bard scowled. “Oh, go tend your horse. I’ll be down soon.”

_Jaskier:_

Yenna was, in fact, Yennefer of Vengerberg, and, fortunately, she was supposed to meet up with Not-Geralt and his bard just outside the town they were in. The only problem was getting there without it seeming like there was something wrong. That meant that Jaskier had to not only carry his counterpart’s weapons but put on a passable performance as a scowly, stoic bard he’d never met. As Not-Geralt had explained, his bard was a force to be reckoned with and very much like Jaskier’s Witcher. So at least Jaskier had a frame of reference. The hardest part was really not saying anything as they walked through town. He could put on a fierce persona fairly easily, so long as he kept his hands gripping the hilt of the daggers on his hips. Talking, though, talking was an outlet for nervous energy, of which he had a lot. Not-Geralt was trying to help in the only way he could: making sure that Jaskier didn’t even have the opportunity to say something. He wasn’t even sure what the Witcher was talking about, but by the time they had arrived at Yennefer’s house, Jaskier was sure he understood Geralt’s insistence for peace on a deeper level. He had never been so relieved to see the violet-eyed sorceress.

That relief vanished as soon as Yennefer smiled sweetly at the pair of them. “Geralt! You’re early, darling.” She turned to Jaskier. “Hello, my monosyllabic friend. I’m glad you decided to join our Witcher today.” Jaskier’s jaw fell open and he couldn’t stop the disbelieving sound that escaped him. Yennefer tilted her head slightly, her smile fading. “Are you all right, dear heart?”

“Yenna,” Not-Geralt started. Jaskier cut him off.

“I have no idea what kind of relationship you have with your Jaskier, but I’m not sure I quite know how to respond to that.” Jaskier stumbled back, still gripping the hilts of the daggers tightly. Yennefer frowned at him.

“Your Jaskier? What are you saying, Bard?” She reached towards him for a moment before pulling her hands back. Not-Geralt had no such hesitations, placing a firm hand on his lower back and holding the bard in place.

“Yenna, this isn’t our bard. He traded places with our bard. This is Jaskier from another World. He, uh, he talks a lot more than Jask does and, from what he said earlier, I don’t think he’s got a good relationship with his worlds Yennefer.” The Witcher’s eyes flicked from Jaskier to Yenna, who was most definitely nothing like his Yennefer. And isn’t that a thought that scares him deeply.

“Well, I can’t see why, if we met the same way. After all, even our Jaskier had to be a little grateful when I saved his life. He was reckless to try and stop that spell, but lucky he had a Witcher to get him to me.” Yenna frowned at the memory. “Well, come inside. I can’t let you degrade Jask’s burly reputation by babbling around out here.” She disappeared into the house, and they followed. It was surprising to the Bard that Yenna had the same attraction to the finer things in life when she herself seemed so different. She led them into a study scattered with books and herbs. “All right, uh, Jaskier, take a seat and tell me what happened. Exactly what happened.” She gestured to a chair and leaned against the table. Not-Geralt leaned against the door frame as Jaskier took the indicated seat, shifting uncomfortably and picking at the hem of his doublet.

“Jaskier, calm down,” the Witcher muttered.

“I am as calm as I can be,” Jaskier snapped. “No offense to you, Yenna, but in my world, my experiences with Sorceresses have tended to be rather traumatic. When I first met Yennefer, she threatened to remove my manhood and then promptly brought a tower down on her and Geralt. Forgive me for being tense.” He rubbed his hands together and forced himself to look up at them.

“I am not her,” Yenna said gently. Her smile was genuine. “Tell me what happened.”

_Geralt:_

The Bard came into the stables at least acting a bit more like Jaskier. He smiled and nodded at the people who passed. The only thing that seemed off was how quiet he was. Geralt had to let it be. He didn’t want another situation where he might hurt the other. He finished tacking up Roach and lead her from the stables. Not-Jaskier followed at a distance, still smiling and waving. When they were out of town, the Bard’s demeanor changed. The smile fell from his face and he pulled the dagger from its hiding place on his back, gripping it like a lifeline. It was a day’s journey to the town where Yennefer had set up. Hopefully, she would stay there, because traveling with a grumpy, quiet bard was uncomfortable. It was strange, but Geralt found that missing his Jaskier was only worse when he looked at the Bard behind him. They had traveled apart many times over the years, and Geralt had missed Jaskier during those times. Had missed the chatter and music and joy the younger man would bring with him. Not-Jaskier was not that man.

He was quiet and closed off and tense. He was like Geralt.

_“I have to spend the morning pretending to be you.”_ That’s what Not-Jaskier had said. Geralt’s stomach twisted again.

“I have a question, Witcher,” Not-Jaskier said. He came up beside Geralt. Geralt hummed. “Your bard usually fills the silence.” That wasn’t the question. “Do you like it?”

The Witcher hesitated, considering. “Yes,” he said, eventually. “Does your Witcher do the same?” The bard grunted an affirmative. Then they fell back into silence for a few hours, neither of them sure how to express their curiosity to the other. Not-Jaskier’s patience snapped first.

“You care for him.” Not a question. “My Witcher calls me Lark. And Jask. And many other things that I don’t think you would ever say aloud. But you’ve thought them.” There was a question.

Geralt nodded. “My Bard calls me Wolf. And often refers to me as ‘dear Witcher’.” Geralt paused. “You are quiet for a bard.”

“You are just quiet,” Not-Jaskier snorted. He didn’t answer the question. “This curse is on my end.” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “My Witcher told me how he felt, and I didn’t respond.”

“How he felt?”

“He loves me.”

“Hmm.”

“Your bard loves you.” It wasn’t a question. “Yenna will fix this, and when she does, tell him the truth. Don’t do what I did.” The bard walked ahead, ending the conversation and leaving Geralt with whiplash and an ache in his heart.

_Jaskier:_

Jaskier explained how he had been drinking the night before and could recall most of the night since he had been quite drunk. Then how he had woken up in their world. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Not-Geralt shuffled awkwardly in the doorway, refusing to come in or meet Yenna’s eyes when she looked over to him. When Jaskier finished talking, Yenna smiled at him sweetly. “Well, dear heart, I would say the curse is not on your end. It’s on our bard. Geralt, dear, what happened to our bard last night?” The Witcher looked away. “Geralt.” Yenna frowned.

“When I got back from the contract, he was waiting, like always. He took care of me like always. After, when he was going to the tavern to perform, I told him I loved him.” Yellow eyes finally looked up. Jaskier felt his stomach drop. Ah. That would be it, wouldn’t it? “He didn’t respond. He just stared at me for a while then walked out. The barkeeper said he didn’t perform last night when I checked this morning. I don’t know what happened, but then I heard the lute in his room and found this Jaskier, not Jask.” The Witcher sighed. Yenna rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Geralt, you didn’t curse him. The emotionally constipated idiot just didn’t know how to handle it then went off and got himself cursed.” Yenna’s voice was gentle, comforting even. “I can fix it, probably.” She left the Witcher’s side and took Jaskier’s hand, kneeling in front of the chair he was seated in. Jaskier felt the familiar sense of chaos press against him and he let his barriers down. Yenna stayed there for a second before pulling back and giving him a strange look. “You’re not fully human?”

“Uh, no? Not sure I’m human at all, if I’m being honest, but I don’t think that is the issue here. Quite frankly, both my Witcher and my Yennefer know and don’t really seem to care. I’d like to get back to them, please.” Jaskier pulled his hands back, eyeing Yenna as she finally stood up.

“You will, dear heart. From what I could tell, the spell only lasts a day. Tomorrow morning you should wake up with your Witcher in your world. I can only hope Jask was as kind to your reputation as you have tried to be to his. You’re welcome to stay here tonight. I would love to pick your brain to see what other differences lie between your world and ours. And Geralt, darling, I still need those ingredients I wanted to hire you for.” The Witcher muttered something about Jask being more important but ultimately left to get the ingredients. Yenna and Jaskier stayed in the study trading stories. Yenna balked at the story of the Djinn, apologizing for her counterpart’s abhorrent behavior. Jaskier laughed at the story of how Not-Geralt and his counterpart had met: a bard rescuing a Witcher was always entertaining after the fact. Then Yenna asked about the dragon hunt.

“Ah, perhaps we could skip that bit?” Jaskier asked.

Yenna frowned. “You would talk about how you almost died, but not a dragon hunt where everyone lives? Why?”

“Ah, well, I may have survived, but my heart did not.” Jaskier chuckled wetly.

“What did you stupid Witcher do?”

“He sent me away.”

“Come now, details please, dear heart.” Yenna sipped her tea, leaning closer. “You’ve told such wonderful stories so far, don’t stop now.”

“You recall the Djinn? Geralt’s last wish bound Yennefer to himself. She found out on the mountain after they finished the fight, which they had gone to without waking me. She left him. I tried to comfort him, but it was not received well. He was upset and angry, and just coming off a battle. So, when I tried to talk to him, he, well, snapped. He blamed me for djinn, the child surprise. All of it. Said I shoveled shit on him.” Yenna’s hand rested on his thigh. “Then he said that if he could have one blessing it would be for me to be taken off his hands.” Jaskier wiped the tears from his face. Even though Geralt had found him and offered an apology not two weeks later, it still hurt to think about. “He apologized and we moved on.”

“Jaskier,” Yenna said quietly. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how much that hurt you. To have the one you love spit in your face like that.” Jaskier stiffened, but Yenna rolled on. “If Geralt had tried to say that to Jask, he would have found a blade to his throat. How long did it take him to apologize?”

“Two weeks,” Jaskier mumbled. Yenna surged over and wrapped herself around him and he let himself melt into her. At some point, another set of arms encompassed them both. When they finally parted, Not-Geralt stood behind Yenna, resting a hand on her shoulder. His face was stormy, and his glare was fierce.

“Never let him hurt you like that again, Jaskier. No matter what.”

_Geralt:_

They found a place to camp as the sunset. It was incredibly silent. Geralt watched the bard as he settled on the other side of the fire holding Jaskier’s notebook. Every so often, the blue eyes would glance over as the bard frowned. This time Geralt was the one to break the silence. “How were you cursed?” Not-Jaskier closed the notebook and fixed his eyes on Geralt.

“I went to walk and sort my feelings. Alone. I ended up in the stables with Roach. I, er, tend to talk to her when my Witcher isn’t around.” He looked away for a moment. “I didn’t realize there was anyone else in the stables. She stopped me on my way back. She said that I needed to see it from his point of view. The next thing I knew you were rudely taking my blanket.” At that, he looked back up, twirling his dagger and smirking slightly. They fell into silence again. Geralt snuffed the fire out when the bard was asleep on his bedroll, hand still curled around the dagger’s hilt. The Witcher settled by Roach, meditating until dawn. When morning came, he was careful not to wake the bard. He had no wish to dodge another attack with the dagger. So, he waited. Jaskier woke the way he always did before, dramatically stretching and smiling brightly across the clearing.

“Good morning, my dear Witcher. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to see your grumpy face,” Jaskier said. A warm feeling spread through Geralt. This was Jaskier. This was his bard. “Geralt, I never thought I would say this, but I honestly understand where you’re coming from when you tell me to be quiet and I may even listen next time. Now, you have to tell me all about your adventures with my counterpart. From what I gathered, he likely made yesterday very quiet for you. And he may have threatened you.” Jaskier waved his arms around, only then realizing that he was still gripping a dagger in one hand. He frowned, setting the weapon down gently.

“Several times,” Geralt finally huffed. Jaskier laughed and it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

“I’m sure you got in your fair share,” the bard chuckled. “I’d apologize for the scare, but it truly wasn’t my fault this time.”

“I know, Jaskier. He told me. He also told me why he got cursed.” The Witcher closed the gap and stood in front of Jaskier’s bedroll. The bard took the offered hand and got to his feet. Geralt didn’t let go of his hand, but Jaskier didn’t seem to mind.

“And what was that? We were all just guessing, though your counterpart seemed to think it had something to do with a conversation he had with his bard.”

“It did.” Geralt stepped closer. Jaskier didn’t move. Cornflower blue eyes scanned his face.

“What, ah, what do you mean?” Jaskier tilted his head to the side.

Geralt forced his words out. “His Witcher told him something and he didn’t respond.” Jaskier didn’t say anything, but his mouth opened a little. His tongue darted across his lips. His eyes were wide as he waited for Geralt to continue. “He advised me not to do the same thing.” With his free hand, Geralt cupped the bard’s face. Then he kissed Jaskier. His Bard’s lips were warm and soft. The kiss was gentle and slow until Jaskier freed his hands and pulled Geralt close, deepening the kiss. They didn’t break apart until Jaskier needed to breathe. His face was flushed, and he was panting for air. He was beautiful.

“Not that I’m complaining, but that was unexpected.” Jaskier smiled broadly. “I love you.” His voice was barely a whisper. Geralt pulled him into an embrace, burying his nose into his bard’s neck. “You don’t have to say it back. I know.”

_In the other world:_

Geralt paced outside Jaskier’s room. He could hear the other man moving around inside, but he didn’t dare go in. He knew it was his bard on the other side of the door. His bard, who was likely in a bad mood after spending a day in another world. When the door finally opened, the bard grabbed the front of Geralt’s shirt and dragged him into the room. He closed the door behind them. “Listen first,” Jask said. He gestured to the bed, releasing the Witcher. Golden eyes scanned his bard. He was still unarmed, which struck as odd. (Jaskier from the other world had disarmed himself as soon as possible, not liking the way it made him look.) Jask still rested his hand on his hip, near where the sheaths should have been. “I left because I didn’t know how to respond.” Jask stepped towards the bed. “I have never…I may sleep around, but I never… no one has ever claimed to love me.” Jask’s face was twisted oddly, looking almost nervous. He looked vulnerable. Jask slipped onto the bed, pressing his side to the Witcher’s. “What I mean is I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus:
> 
> Jaskier: I met another version of Yennefer who was actually nice to me and it freaked me out. If our Yennefer ever learns about that world, she may very well kill me to keep me quiet.
> 
> Geralt: Hmm.
> 
> OW!Geralt: Hear Jask talking was scary. He talked in paragraphs with detail and vocal inflections.
> 
> OW!Jaskier: *deadpan* You will never hear that many words again.


End file.
